Dreaming of Ghosts
by fleurofthecourt
Summary: Nick goes over to Monroe's after the events of the evening in La Llorona, [Episode Tag].


A/N: I wrote this before we had canonical evidence that Monroe had a spare room, just FYI.

* * *

Nick sighed as he took in the broken glass. It was late, and after the night he'd had, he wasn't sure this was something he wanted to deal with. But it was well past midnight, and he'd already driven over. He raised his hand to knock. Before his knuckles even grazed the wood, the door gave in.

He gave Monroe, who was still wearing his skeleton costume, a once over, then chuckled dryly. He suspected then, though refused to admit it to himself, that he'd driven over there for nothing.

"Hey, Nick. It's really late. But, uh, there's still some candy left, if you want some. Well, uh, because I went and got more of it. Trick-or-Treaters were out late this year," Monroe babbled as Nick went and sat down on the couch.

"No, no that's okay...Monroe," Nick paused, then he made a sweeping gesture at what he considered the damning evidence of the window. "You promised no one would get hurt."

Monroe looked confused for a moment and then offended.

"No one did," Monroe said. "I mean, I may have frightened a few punk ass kids after they broke my window, but no one was injured."

"Not even you?" Nick asked, an undercurrent of suspicion in his voice. He didn't really want to admit that's what he was earnestly worried about. That he'd really just driven across Portland after closing a case partially because he was worried about his friend and how seriously he took Halloween. And what could have happened with the weapon he'd lent him.

"Not even me," Monroe said. He set his hand on Nick's shoulder. "Now, I was planning on going to bed, like now. So did you come over here for something?...Other than accusing me of breaking promises? Which I definitely did not break."

Nick leaned into the couch, let the faint wind from the open space in the wall drift through his hair. It wasn't completely dry, not yet. And he decided since he clearly had no other reason to be there to ask that question that he doesn't want the answer to, "Do you believe in ghosts?"

"Oh," Monroe groaned and raised his eyes. "It's going to be that kind of conversation."

However, after examining Nick's face, his expression softened, and he looked more concerned than anything. Tapping his fingers along the back of the couch, he asked, "Is this about a case?"

Nick nodded. Even though the case was technically solved, he felt like it wasn't. And these weren't just any loose ends.

That woman had been in his arms. She'd looked like she was drowning, gasping for air. The same way he had been, moments earlier. She had been solid, real. Then her form had changed. She twisted against him, becoming like the water, impossible to grasp. She drifted out of his arms as he reached for her, futilely.

As he watched her drift away, her appearance changed again. She looked as though she were merely a woman drowning. He knew he couldn't reach her, but he couldn't look away either. He watched as she drifted into the distance and just disappeared.

He saw it happen. But he still didn't want to believe it. Wesen were one thing, ghosts another.

Nick let silence settle between them as he stared out into the distance at Monroe's myriad of decorations. Loathe as he'd be to admit it, he needed them. They may have been intended to be mildly frightening, but Nick currently found them to be homey and comforting.

"Oh man. What happened?" Monroe asked. He reached his hand forward, as though he were going to wrap his arm around Nick's shoulders, but he stopped short. Then he stood up abruptly, "Actually hold that thought. I know it's really late for it, but I'm getting us coffee."

Nick, not really wanting to be left alone with his thoughts, followed Monroe into the kitchen and sat down at the table. Then he slumped over it, burrowing his head into his arms as he listened to the soft hum of the coffee maker.

"Do you know the legend of La Llorona?" Nick asked, finally, without taking his head off the table.

"Crazy ghost woman, drowns three kids every Hallo...ween," Monroe's voice caught. "You don't mean...?"

"I think I met her," Nick said. "Hank and a detective from New Mexico saw her too. It wasn't just me. But they didn't see her disappear into the water like I did."

"Oh dude," Monroe whistled. "Seriously?"

Nick tried to give him a look. But he couldn't manage it. It had roughly been his reaction when that strange woman had first suggested a ghost.

"Yeah, and it's not like I can arrest a ghost," Nick mumbled into his arm.

Monroe pressed his fingers into the crook of his elbow, and Nick looked up, "Hey."

"Hey?" Nick blinked before he found Monroe's eyes.

"I know you're upset that you can't press charges against a ghost, but I think you're ignoring the bigger issue here," Monroe said.

"Which is?" Nick asked.

"You saw a ghost! And it rattled you. Which is totally fine. I wouldn't be cool if I ran into a ghost either. But just know that that's what's really bothering you," Monroe said.

"That's... helpful," Nick said, threatening to slump onto the table again. Monroe reached his hand tentatively across Nick's shoulder and this time, he started rubbing it gently.

"I just mean that you still don't know everything there is to know out there, man. And it's not just folks like ...well my folks that gave impetus for things that go bump in the night...especially tonight," Monroe said. "So yeah, man, I believe in ghosts. And I'm guessing you do too now."

"Hard not to after one tries to drown you," Nick said wryly.

Monroe gave him a long look, like that wasn't something he was expecting to hear. It probably wasn't, Nick realized. Almost drowning wasn't actually something to bring up in casual conversation. Then the coffee maker dinged, and with a backwards glance at Nick, Monroe went back to it.

"Drink that," Monroe said commandingly, setting a mug in front of Nick. "It's decaf. You're not leaving here until you do."

Nick realized then how foolish this whole errand had been. Monroe was obviously fine. He, on the other hand, was bone tired. And his nerves were frazzled. Every time he shut his eyes, he saw that damnable woman's wispy form vanishing into the river.

He knew he would dream about it too. He sighed, reluctant to leave. He didn't want to drive home with nothing to do but think about his hellish evening. He didn't want to be home where he couldn't talk about any of this.

"Can I stay?" Nick asked finally. "The night, I mean."

"Probably not a bad idea considering how late it is," Monroe said hesitantly, with a glance at his watch. Then after he took a deep breath, he said, "Actually, why don't you sleep in my bed? I'll take the couch. I know you've been sleeping on the couch at your house ever since..."

"Juliette came home. Yeah," Nick said. "It's okay. I've made good friends with the couch."

Nick smiled like he believed this. The truth was, he'd love to take up Monroe's offer. But he'd also like Monroe to not sleep on the couch either. He hated sleeping alone. And, yes, he was also man enough to admit it was a little because he was afraid he'd dream of ghosts. But he couldn't ask Monroe to do that, no matter how much he wanted it. And he knew it.

Except, then it occurred to both of them, that if he stayed, there wasn't going to be a choice.

"The window," Monroe said, slapping his hand over his forehead. "Nick, I'm not taking back my offer. But you'd have to be okay with bunking with me."

Monroe didn't look like he was entirely comfortable with this. But after realizing that Nick had drifted off at the table, Monroe had also decided he wasn't really comfortable with him driving home either.

Drowsily, Nick let Monroe lead him up the stairs. Then, after pulling on a slightly large pair of Monroe's flannel pajama bottoms, he collapsed onto the bed. He was sound asleep before Monroe came back from brushing his teeth.

He's frozen on the riverbank. He tries to run forward. His feet are caught in the sand. He tries to scream out a warning. It's hopeless though, he knows. They can't hear him.

The woman's hair extends and wraps around the children like seaweed as they approach the water. The children turn around, and they see Nick. They reach their hands forward toward him, calling for help.

He knows them. They're all children he's met before. They're children he's rescued in the past, little girls that he's picked up, held close, and told were safe now. But now they are being taken to their death, and there is nothing he can do. He watches, helpless, as the children are led into the water. He thrashes in the sand, but it's no use. He can't reach them. A strong wave hits the shore, washing them out of view, and splashing him...

He jerked awake, gasping for air. For a moment, he was disoriented, half forgetting where he was sleeping. The ticking of more than one clock and the dark wood bedframe clued him in, though. Certain of his surroundings, he sat up and set his hands at his side, twitching one slightly as he almost set it on Monroe. He was really glad that Monroe was there though, as listening to the rhythmic sound of Monroe's snoring helped to calm him down. He took a few long, deep breaths before reluctantly pulling himself back under the covers.

Previously, there had been a comfortable distance between the two of them, but Nick now closed it, surreptitiously. By the time he fell back asleep, he was curled up against Monroe's side, not quite pressing into it.

He is alone on the beach of a tropical island. Fading sunlight filters through the dark shade of his sunglasses. A hand tugs on his. He whirls around, but there's no one behind him. He lifts his shades as twilight settles over the ocean. Then he sees her.

The woman in white. But as her hair glimmers and catches the rays of the fading sunlight, he realizes that it's red this time. He backs away, but she reaches for his wrist and pulls him forward. It's Juliette's face, though she has the dark cuts and bruises of La Llorona. He looks away from her.

Then he sees to his horror, that he isn't the only one with her. Her hand is wrapped around a small dark wrist. Although he looks to be a child, Nick knows that it's Hank. And her hair is snaking around another boy with red tinged eyes that can only be Monroe. Nick notes, with surprise that they're holding hands as they stare forward, trembling, at the water.

"Juliette, no!" He shouts. Then her face morphs, becoming darker, and it's far too cruel to have ever belonged to Juliette. "Don't hurt them!"

His voice echoes, hollow. She looks down at him, her eyes locking with his own. They are full of fire and fury.

"You've taken things from me. Now I'm taking them from you," She whispers as she pulled the two boys into the water. They both look back at Nick with sad yet hopeful eyes. They're both calling his name as they hold onto each other, bobbing up and down in the waves. Nick is caught on the woman's arm, but no matter how hard he struggles against her, he can't reach his friends. He twists from side to side as he starts sobbing at the futility of the situation.

A light touch on the crook of his elbow snapped him out of it.

"What were you dreaming about?" Monroe said softly. "Nothing good, I'd wager." Nick, who was still breathing heavily, didn't say anything for a minute.

"La Llorona. She was taking kids I've met into the water. Then she was Juliette and she was trying to drown you and Hank," Nick said all in one breath. He wasn't even sure Monroe caught all of it.

"Well, I for one, am glad that Juliette isn't really La Llorona," Monroe said. "And I can't see her trying to kill me or Hank. Or kids. So I'm sure she isn't... You have some vivid nightmares, man."

"Tell me about it," Nick said with a sigh of resignation. "I don't even want to go back to sleep now."

"Hmm," Monroe said, resting his hand on his chin. "Why don't you tell me everything that happened earlier. I'm not really an expert on nightmares, but I think that's suppose to help. Then maybe you can actually sleep."

Nick nodded slowly. Then Monroe listened carefully, mostly without interrupting, as Nick detailed the evening's events. When he began describing La Llorona disappearing into the water, he noticed, reluctantly, that he was shaking slightly. He had thought, imperceptibly, but after a moment, Monroe pulled the blanket that was half folded on the end of the bed and wordlessly draped it over him. Nick shot him a look that lingered somewhere between annoyance and gratitude before continuing his narration.

When Nick finished, Monroe set his hand on his shoulder, "And, Nick, you're okay? Really okay after all that?"

"Not as okay as I'd like to be, apparently," Nick muttered under his breath, but Monroe still heard him.

"Maybe it'll be okay now," Monroe said. "Like I said, I'm no expert with dreams, but, hey, you never know."

Then they both slid back under the covers and turned inwards for a moment, "I've never tried this before, exactly. So, I have no idea if it'll work. But thanks, Monroe. You didn't have to do anything. You're already letting me sleep here."

"Well, you were kind of keeping me up, and I'd like some sleep too, you know. But, really, Nick, we're friends. It's what I'm here for," Monroe said drowsily. He half patted Nick on the shoulder, but his hand ended up mostly grazing the bed. Then he yawned and said, "Now try to get some proper sleep, will ya?"

Nick grinned before curling up under the extra blankets. Although he couldn't say that he fully believed in Monroe's dream theory, he had the feeling that this time he would.


End file.
